These blades are dulled from overuse.
The freezer's full of heads.
I wear a coat of children's skin,
I've stolen from their beds.
A tarnished tub with crimson stains,
a saw that cuts through bone.
I've heard stories read to kids
before they're left alone.
Or some are sung a lullaby,
a tender goodnight song.
I softly mock its innocence
as too, I hum along.
Most poorly search the closet's depth
or glance beneath the bed,
assuring there's no boogey-man
or monsters to be fed.
While just beyond the night-light's reach,
with Mother right next door,
I stand so still in silent wait,
like countless times before.
The parents get their last sound sleep
until the morning's dawn.
What horrors do their children face
before it's known they're gone.
So, Daddy, tuck your princess in
as snugly as you can,
then wail aloud at lies you told.
There is...a boogey-man.
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